It's a broad variety of what could be materials, or ingredients, or some hobbyist's preferred collectibles. Id keeps working as he thinks about this, piling leaves beside him for the time being. He'll figure out how to store them once the task's completed.

"People usually want salvage or monster parts, where I'm from," he eventually says, his low voice a touch wistful. It almost feels like a lifetime ago, even though rationally, it hasn't been so long as that. Home is worlds away, just the same. "Then there was a kid who wanted pincer crabs. Just pincer crabs. Tiny things, they'll hide anywhere."

He's not sure why he's talking so much. Maybe it's the lack of judgement or negative response. Maybe it's an unconscious recognition that someone's even less inclined to say much than he is. Id's not socially savvy enough to say, in his own evaluation. It seems alright, though.